


Changed but Still The Same

by loochskywalker



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Light Bondage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Size Difference, Size Kink, Tom isn't as mean as Connor wants him to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 20:18:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10704345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loochskywalker/pseuds/loochskywalker
Summary: These testing strokes are meant to get Connor used to it but they feel fucking weak. He wants more, he didn’t come here for nice, Tom should have called Latts if he wanted nice.





	Changed but Still The Same

**Author's Note:**

> This is fiction and meant to be read as such ! Sorry I'm trash for size difference and after Tom and CC went at it during the game I knew I had to write this. I did my best to keep it just porn but of course some feelings slipped in here.

Connor doesn’t know what he’s doing here -- well that’s a little bit of a lie, Tom texted him, so maybe it’s more accurate to say he doesn’t know why he  _ agreed _ to come here. They’re dead locked in maybe the closest series in the 2017 playoffs, he’s tired, his arms hurt and he shouldn’t be here. Still with all of this rolling through his head, he knocks.

Tom opens the door and grins at him, “Hey Caresy.” his voice is dangerous, a warning maybe. Connor should turn around right now, leave while he still can. But he can see Tom’s eyes fall to the bruise along his cheekbone and he knows he’s staying.

“Hey.” Connor tries to be casual, like his heart isn’t thrumming in his chest. He’s not an idiot, he knows why Tom wants him here. The ghost of the cross check he took to the chest just a few hours before gently reminds him it’ll probably bruise. When it happened on the ice Connor didn’t hesitate but now, standing in front of Tom, looking up at him he can’t help but think Tom is  _ so big _ and that he has no chance.

“Come in,” Tom says and steps aside. It’s dark in the apartment past him, enough that Connor’s fight or flight instincts are starting to kick in. Connor thinks that maybe that is what Tom wants.

He steps inside anyway.

The door closes with a faint click and for a split, terrifying second Connor can’t see anything. He turns around to try to grab Tom, but everything is moving so slow and before he can reach him Tom’s arm locks around his waist and pulls him tight, the other locking around his chest and holding his arms to his sides.

“You really gonna fight this?” Tom’s voice is still dangerous, low and right next to Connor’s ear, “You came here Caresy, you didn’t have to.”

Connor just pants in response, he doesn’t know what to say.

Tom squeezes him tighter, bending them over so he has more leverage to grab at Connor’s wrists and hold them in one of his large hands. He’s so big and Connor struggles mostly just to feel how stuck he is.

“What a tough little shit,” Tom laughs in his ears, “Come on.” His knee comes up in the back of Connor’s legs, forcing him to bend them so Tom can wrestle him the rest of the way to the floor.

“Really?” Connor finally finds his voice to say, “On the floor? You're more romantic than this.” But Connor isn’t really one to talk, his wrists are stuck and Tom is pressing down on him so hard his knees will probably bruise where they’re planted on the wood floor.

“Just for now.” Tom’s voice is almost a purr.

Connor feels Tom kneel down behind him as he reaches around to grab one of Connor’s wrists with his other hand. He pulls them both behind Connor’s back, so easily it should be embarrassing. Once he has both behind Connor’s back, Tom goes back to holding onto them with one big hand as he rustles around.

“What are…” but Connor shuts up fast when he feels thin leather loop around his wrists and pull tight. Oh.

“Good?” Tom asks, his voice suddenly dropping all hint of danger as his fingers slip into the bind and rub against his skin. 

Connor rolls his eyes, “Yeah, good.” he says back, quiet, like if they stay below a certain volume they don’t have to acknowledge the softness in Tom’s tone. 

There’s a beat or two where they just breathe before Tom stands up and walks around Connor to stand in front of him. “Better,” Tom says when he tilts Connor’s face up to look at him “More useful like this anyway.” he traces his thumb along Connor’s bottom lip as he says it. The way it prods at his mouth lets Connor know he wants in, but he keeps his lips shut tight. 

“Aw, don’t be like this,” Tom says even though he stops poking at his mouth, “We both know you’re a slut for it.”

Connor glares at him, about to say something back when his eyes drop to Tom’s hands making quick work to push his flannel pants down and get his dick out. He doesn’t mean to stare in awe at it -- it’s just a dick even if it is as big and pretty as the rest of Tom.

“That’s what I thought,” Tom laughs, his big fist wrapping around his cock to stroke it a few times before grabbing the base. “You ready?”

Connor doesn’t get a chance to answer, his mouth still slack jawed, before Tom pushes in. It’s not too deep at first but Connor still tries to yank away in surprise. Tom’s faster though, his other hand grabbing Connor by the hair and forcing him to stay still as he pushes his dick the rest of the way into Connor’s mouth. It’s hot and heavy and the way Tom stops short before pulling back out feels like a fucking tease. Connor may be closer to 5’8 than 5’11 but he sure as hell doesn’t want to be treated like it and fuck Tom for trying to what,  _ be nice _ ?

He tries to push forward, even as Tom’s hand holds him still, tries to make Tom push deeper, make him fucking choke on it or something. These testing strokes are meant to get Connor used to it but they feel fucking weak. He wants  _ more _ , he didn’t come here for nice, Tom should have called Latts if he wanted nice. 

It all makes Tom laugh. “Shh, greedy,” he says as he pushes his other hand into Connor’s hair. “This isn’t about you, babe.”

Connor wants to bite his dick so bad then, not a lot, just enough for Tom to know that his teeth are dangerous. But he holds back.

Tom gently thrusts back in, hips rocking as his dick slides along Connor’s tongue. Connor does his best to suck at it, to coax Tom into giving him more but Tom doesn’t, he stubbornly just slowly thrusts into Connor’s mouth. Connor didn’t lose to come here, to be put on his knees and gently suck at the cock of his rival; He came here to leave with a few more bruises than he arrived with. Instead Tom is just using him to slowly get off, and that’s worse than being easily overpowered in the dark entry of Tom’s apartment.

Soon though Tom apparently can’t take it any longer, his grip in Connor’s hair tightening as he thrusts in a little deeper, his cock getting harder. By the time he finally pushes too far, tears are springing to Connor’s eyes and he can feel the way his lips throb, a little swollen.

“Fuck,” Tom hisses.

Connor wants to reach up and grab Tom’s thighs, pull him deeper, work Tom’s cock into his throat, but the belt around his wrists hold fast and remembering it’s there makes Connor whine.

Tom gets the message though and soon his thrusts speed up, full on fucking Connor’s throat. It’s not pretty, Connor’s eyes are burning and he can feel the tears on his cheeks. There’s spit everywhere and Connor is taking deep gulping breaths whenever Tom lets him. But god, it’s what he wanted. Nothing about Connor is pretty and fucking him shouldn’t be either.

When Tom pulls out he uses the hands in Connor’s hair to yank him up. Connor can’t stop from yelping as he struggles to get his feet under him to fully stand. Still though, he’s so much smaller than Tom and can’t do anything when Tom yanks his head back and bites at the base of his neck.

He hisses and feels his knees wobble.

“Tom,” he groans, “stop fucking around.”

“Do I have to gag you too?” Tom asks as he pulls away, stuffing a thumb into Connor’s mouth, “because I will.”

“Fuck you.” Connor says, his words coming out slurred as Tom presses down on his tongue.

Tom just grins at him, predatory and a little mean.

 

******

 

Tom shoves Connor into his room, laughing a little when Connor stumbles into his dresser. After Tom kicks the door shut he scoops Connor back up into his arms and grabs the hem of his shirt, pulling up roughly. Connor likes it rough but he cringes at the thought of Tom tearing his shirt off of him. Tom doesn’t do that, he just tugs it until it’s over his head and shoulders and around his arms, out of the way for Tom but more in the way for Connor.

When Tom pulls him back so he’s pressed to his chest, he can feel the way Tom looms over him. If Connor tips his head back it’ll be resting on Tom’s collarbone. It makes him tremble more than the lips Tom runs up his neck. He has to bend down so far,  _ fuck _ .

He doesn’t so much as throw Connor on the bed as shove him really hard when he was already willing to go. As long as Tom is being mean, Connor will go along with it.

Tom doesn’t disappoint, biting Connor’s chest and along his hips as he tugs Connor’s jeans and boxers off. He can’t get comfortable with his wrists under his back, but the way he rocks back and forth and lets out frustrated groans seems to be exactly what Tom wants.

It’s what Connor wants too, the stinging spots on his body and the way, when he kicks out, it just ends up with Tom wrapping a hand around his ankle and tipping his leg back. He feels exposed and trapped and at Tom’s mercy and it all bubbles up in his chest and makes him moan when Tom finally gets a finger in him.

“Aw, you're tight,” Tom says, his voice taunting as he twists his finger, making Connor really feel how true his words are. “No one in Toronto takes care of you, huh?”

“Shut up.”

Tom laughs at him again and pushes a second finger in, “Or were you saving yourself for me?”

“Shut  _ up _ .”

“Touchy.” 

He puts in a third finger almost immediately. Connor squeezes his eyes shut at the burn, his hips tilting away from the stretch, the sensation of too much. He can’t get anywhere that Tom doesn’t follow, his fingers tucked up inside Connor, spreading him wide. It’s a lot. Tom is right. He hasn’t had this in so long.

Tom fucks his fingers in long enough to spread the lube around and make Connor really feel the careless sharp thrusts before he’s removing them.

“Tom…” Connor gasps out. They have a game to play.

“It’s your turn to shut up,” Tom growls back. He uses his grip on Connor’s ankle to to flip him over. Connor has to squirm around again to get comfortable before Tom’s hands lock around his hips and pull up so he’s balancing on his knees, face pressed against the bedding. 

“You don’t want nice, we both know that.”

“We have a  _ game _ .”

“You only have one more and they never let you play more than fifteen minutes. This won't slow you down.”

Connor wants to bite back something just as mean but he can’t, partly because Tom is slicking up his dick and Connor feels his adrenaline kick into high gear at just the sound of it, but mostly because he has nothing to say. Tom has been great all series.

“That’s better,” Tom sighs, even as Connor lurches away from the first touch of Tom’s dick against his hole. “Shh, shh.” Connor hates that, wants to yell at Tom again for  _ shushing _ him, but whatever he was going to say is lost when Tom pushes in.

He’s so big, and with the minimal prep it burns. Connor can feel the stretch in sparks that run all the way down his spine. If Tom were doing this right, if he was doing this  _ nice _ , he’d probably rock in slow, and press kisses along Connor’s shoulder and tell him how good he felt. But Tom isn’t doing this nice and presses in with one slow thrust. 

God, it’s so much.

He’s long and hard and Connor feels so thoroughly fucked on just that one thrust that he can’t stop himself from panting into the blankets under his cheek. Fuck Tom and his fucking perfect dick and big stupid body. Fuck  _ him _ . 

Tom is as careless and mean about it as Connor was hoping, grabbing his hips and fucking in. He’s using Connor like he isn’t even there, like he’s just trying to get off, thrusting fast to get the right kind of pressure and friction on his dick. Connor hates it but god he  _ loves _ it too, moaning shamelessly into the bed like he can’t fucking shut up, like he really is a slut for it.

He feels Tom’s hand grasp at his hair again and yank up so he’s not pressed against the bed anymore. It hurts, he feels the stinging in his scalp like fucking pop rocks under his skin and he let’s out an overwhelmed noise into the open room. It almost gets to be too much, Connor almost has to give in and tell Tom he can’t do it, that it’s  _ too _ mean, but Tom drops him before it happens. Tom follows Connor to the bed and presses his forearm and elbow into Connor’s back, holding him to the bed. 

“Fuck, you’re just taking it,” Tom grunts out, his hips pressing hard and deep. 

Connor whimpers into the bed and bites at the blanket below him to keep him quiet.

It’s worse because Tom is right. Tom is pressing him into the bed and his hands are tied behind his back but Connor is just taking it, just letting Tom give it to him. His legs feel like jelly, and his arms are limp. He’s tied up and helpless but he’s not fighting back at all, he’s taking it, he wants to take it  _ so bad _ . He never wants this to end.

Tom fucks him, alternating between hard, rough thrusts and slow, deep ones that Connor can feel in his toes. Somewhere along the line a shallow thrust strikes Connor’s prostate head on and he feels himself lose it.

“Tom, god, please, don’t...right there, please,  _ please _ .” He hates begging but anything to make Tom do it again, anything.

“This isn’t about you, babe,” Tom repeats, digging his elbow harder into the back of Connor’s spine. Tom doesn’t stop though, his shallow, sharp thrusts striking Connor again and again until tears are spilling down his cheeks and he’s letting out wet coughing moans.

“This is what  _ I  _ want,” Tom says as he wraps his hand around Connor’s cock  _ finally _ . It’s hot and hard and his body jerks when Tom touches him there. He’s so close,  _ please  _ just _ … _

“You’re going to go back into that room and let all your teammates know what I did to you, that such a little shit on the ice bent so easily for me, that you want it so bad.”

“No, I…” Connor moaned out trying to thrust forward into Tom’s hand.

“No?” Tom laughed, breathless and a little overwhelmed, his hand moving in a punishing rhythm on Connor’s cock and  _ fuck _ …“You tell Babcock I’m someone to fucking worry about.” 

Connor comes hard, silent but with his body locking up so tight that Tom’s hips stutter to a stop thrust deep inside of him. It feels like so much: shocks rocking through his body, his eyelids fluttering, his body trembling.

Tom starts thrusting again before Connor has completely calmed down. It sends knife-like shocks up Connor’s body. It’s a lot, it’s so much and Connor can’t fucking saying anything about it, his voice gone.

But Tom doesn’t put him through it for long, his elbow coming off of Connor’s shoulder to press in the bed on either side of Connor’s head. His kiss is wet and all tongue against the back of Connor’s neck as he comes, his hips pressed up tight. It sends one more bright flash of pleasure before Tom relaxes against his body and pants heavily.

Now is when Connor bitches about Tom being against him, calls him Willy and asks him to untie his hands, but Connor stays silent. He’s so tired he doesn’t know if he could get up. 

Tom eventually starts to move though, sitting up and straightening out Connor’s legs, undoing the belt and sliding Connor’s shirt all the way off his arms. Connor stretches out his arms and tucks them under his head, still trying to get his breathing even. His body feels empty and aching but he has to move soon.

“You gonna take a shower?” Tom asks.

“I should,” Connor says, “but I don’t know if I can.”

“Fair,” Tom says, “I would draw you a bath but you’d hate that.”

“Now’s not the time for that shit, Tom,” Connor pushes himself up, “I’m not Latts,”

Tom makes a hurt face but nods, “I know.” he says. “I don’t want you to be.”

They’re sitting together now on the bed, just staring at each other. And Connor knows Tom isn’t lying. Tom has always treated him different from Latts, but he’s not stupid enough to believe it’s because Tom thinks  _ he’s _ the special one. 

“I don’t either.” Connor means it. He doesn’t need Tom’s softness, not here. “So thanks,” he adds.

“What?” Tom laughs, quiet and disbelieving.

“No other guy your size would go after me in a game.” He leans over to pat Tom on the head to lighten the mood. “Thanks for being an asshole.”

“Only for you, babe,” Tom winks and then stops, “and Martin I guess.”

“That was cute for a second.” Connor is smiling, though, and Tom smiles back. Connor doesn’t know how this series is going to end, but he feels ready to move on to Pittsburgh, wouldn’t feel bad at all for leaving Tom in the dust.

He thinks Tom probably feels the same.


End file.
